The Essence of Time
by Sam's Box of Stories
Summary: Follows the life of Elan Morin Tedronai in the Age of Legends, and his eventual trek to the Shadow. It begins with him being a young Aes Sedai with a harmlessly pessimistic view on the world. Rated T for violence, smoking, drinking and sex.
1. Distractions

Author's note: This do be my first fic, so please comment, favourite or do whatever you do(I'm new here). If you guys think it do be good and that the characters are accurately portrayed I will continue. Otherwise this work will end with Elan putrefying at home and Lews chasing skirts as an aspiring undergrad and the War of Power will never happen in this turning of the Wheel.

This chapter is a chapter where practically nothing happens.

* * *

Paaran Disen never slept.

Even in the blackness of the night, city lights sparkled, creating a hazy glow that hovered over the crown jewel of the Second Age. This high up, the faint murmur of jo-car traffic could be heard at a distance. In the day, the ambience was much louder... Distracting.

"Elan, are you there?"

Flicking on the callbox with a simple weave, Elan Morin Tedronai removed the cigarette from between his teeth, annoyed at the distraction. "Mother," he greeted at length, but could not summon up any joviality or anything. He couldn't be caught smoking by his mother. Aside from that, he was not also inclined to emotionality, and she knew that well.

"I've had the news," came Myella Morin Fredomon's voice over the line. Not precisely excited though, but as excited as any famed mathematician could get. Her tone was equally polite, but only satisfied. "Congratulations, Elan Morin."

"It's just a third name," he answered, closing his notebook, and putting aside his pencil, "but thank you anyway." He had been unproductive today; he had planned on making edits to the latest edition of his newest book, _Reality and the Absence of Meaning_, but annoyingly so, the day had been riddled with calls from friends, relatives and other people who looked to engage his services in the pedagogy of literature. It was not surprising that his mother was the last; up until the time he had enrolled in the Academy, he had believed that everyone in the world were scatterbrains like her. Oh, she might be more intelligent than the common folk and easier to converse with from his point of view, but Elan was often left to care for himself.

"It may be just a trivial bestowment to you, dear, but having a third name elevates others' opinion of you more than you think. What time is it in Paaran Disen?"

He took a casual moment to glance at his watch in the moonlight. "Four hours unto dawn," he reported reluctantly. It would be hours behind back in his home city of Tzora, late in the afternoon. Getting a third name somehow had seemed a very large step for him when he had been a younger Aes Sedai full of impulse and a readiness to achieve what had seemed to be the 'impossible'. Now, a few decades had dulled that eagerness and he fully – or not fully, but more – understood the true meaning of 'impossible'.

That earned something equivalent to an explosion from his mother. "Have you even slept?" she demanded, all optimism gone from her voice. She could have been brandishing a Sword at him, executing something along the lines of The Courtier Taps His Fan, the way she would be shaking it at him.

"I've already slept two hours," he replied. Or it was part lie; he had taken a nap the day before in the afternoon. He slept whenever he wanted. His mother was truly a pitiable thing, and this was a perfect example. Her life was so distracted, so concentrated on her mathematics that she nearly always forgot times were different all around the world and yet call her son when she should have known that he _should _have been asleep. That brought a faint smile of amusement to his face.

She sighed. "Elan, you know I try," she said mildly with resignation. "Two hours is not healthy but I no longer have control over you. One day I'm going to come to Paaran Disen and live with you. We'll both write our books, and I'll make sure you sleep early. Now go and catch what sleep you can." With that, the other end of the resonance of _saidar _faded from the callbox, and Elan detached his own thread of _saidin_, replacing his cigarette between his teeth and inhaling the smoke deeply.

It was intoxicating; the feeling was sovereign. Smoking dimmed his awareness of reality and allowed him to receded into his mind, enhancing his though processes. Letting his mother's final words and empty threats drift on the wind, unremembered, he opened his notebook and bent over the manuscript again. He had never bothered to install lights on this balcony since he moved in; lights were glaring things that refused to give him the moment of shade he liked. If his mother saw him now, he would be grounded for spoiling his eyes with the dim moonlight and beaten for quite obviously smoking too much. Nevertheless, such little punishments mattered not to him despite the fact that Myella could exert a fearsome presence on him whenever she wished to; nothing lasted forever. Eventually, his books, all three of his names, his history... Everything would be forgotten with time. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered.

The door chimed, awaking him from his thoughts.

Curious as to what mysterious client he would have at this time of the night when he usually did not expect anyone at all to be awake unless necessary, he got up from the wicker chair and went back into his apartments. His cheeks were rosy from being outside in the chilly night; winter was coming. He channeled without a thought, activating the glowbulbs to light up the house, and opened the door.

It was a young man who was standing in the doorway, a hand shorter than Elan and with soft brown hair, brown eyes. He was clad in a simple blue coat and breeches; paler blue lace spilled at his throat and cuffs, and like all of the apprentices at the Academy, he had no embroidery or brocade on his garments, though he was given the freedom to choose what he wore.

"Aes Sedai," Lews Therin said meekly, bowing. Lews, a budding student at the Academy who learned at the rate a sponge soaked up water. Elan had taught the boy several times, but had not gotten to know him personally. After all, it was a big step from apprentice to Allservant. "Good evening."

"Good morning," Elan corrected, glancing at his watch again. Closer to dawn than closer to evening. "What are you doing here at this time of the night, boy?"

"I... couldn't sleep," the apprentice said slowly, shifting his feet uneasily under Elan's unblinking, alert gaze. "I had dreams."

"These two events you state, they are dependent on each other," Elan pointed out, removing the cigarette from his mouth. Casually he leaned against the doorpost. "You cannot dream when you do not sleep. Did you sleep or not?"

It was occasional that he had someone who couldn't sleep coming to him at all odd hours, whether it was Aes Sedai or Aes Sedai apprentice; everyone knew that he kept odd hours due to his preference for conducting his studies in the darkness and tranquility. He was not sure why he entertained every visitor even if they distracted his work, talking about why they couldn't sleep – whether it was a big day ahead or just insomnia – in the smoky dimness of his sitting room.

"Well..." Lews blushed at his own stupidity, avoiding Elan's eyes. "...yes. I couldn't go back to sleep after that. My friend Barid told me that you usually kept awake at night."

"Ah, Barid." Barid Bel, another apprentice. Born on separate days but within hours of each other, the two had moved in lockstep since their induction into the Academy. Lews and Barid were inseparable. Somehow, during his first months as a novice, Barid's habit of sleepwalking had caught up with him; he had explored the entire Apprentice Tower and Aes Sedai guild house eventually ending up being woken up by the acrid smell of Elan's cigarette smoke in his apartments. The scene had not been pretty, but it had been a good cause for laughs. Though it had become well-known in the Academy that Elan's apartments were bad for the lungs, it was that way that people eventually learned that he was up and about at the wee hours of the morning.

Elan realised that his brow had creased a bit, remembering the young man before him, and hastily smoothed out his features. "So what are you doing here?" He opened the door further and let Lews into his rooms, tucking his cigarette in his mouth again. He would require another in minutes.

"I... perhaps foolishly... thought that you could help me sort it out," Lews said, coming in. He wrinkled up his nose at the smell of cigarette smoke, but said nothing.

"Some of my... clients... opt to meet me outside to discuss a commission or have an assessment," Elan said quietly, closing the door and leading the apprentice to the sitting room. Most of his commissioners elected to meet for a meal, but he usually cleared the smell whenever a student called. He had few students. Very few. People came to him to ask for his tutelage in literature, but he rarely accepted any. "I can clear the smell quickly if you wish."

Lews seemed thoughtful for a moment, as if torn between whether to keep his nose together or to tick Elan off, but nodded silently. "Yes please, thank you," he said politely.

Elan channeled, thickening his flows and creating air currents about the sitting room to divert the lingering haze out of the balcony doors. The sitting room was an organised chaos; Elan had never bothered to get himself a Da'shain Aiel to suit his needs. Stacks of papers were placed on every flat surface but the floor, whether they were in armchairs or on the coffee table in the centre. All of them were notes, a culmination of notes for all the eight books he had published under his name so far. The bookcases were filled with books, all organised according to title and genre, but were old and well-used. Occasionally the short essay of another philosopher would protrude, stuffed between two books with Elan's cursive hand sprawling on the margins, merely commentary.

Once the air was clean, Elan snuffed out his cigarette, burnt whatever was left of it in Fire and sat down in the couch, which was the only piece of furniture in the room unoccupied by papers or books. Lews sat down on the other end of the couch, looking unsure but slightly awed by the brief display of channeling; Elan was the strongest Aes Sedai alive after all, having had his last increment in strength to ninety-two on the scale, far higher than any other male Aes Sedai living by leaps and bounds.

"Now tell me about your dream," Elan said mildly, steepling his fingers. Kamarile Nindar was probably a better Aes Sedai to go to for help; she was an excellent counsellor despite having only been in the field for several years. But it was likely that she would charge for her professional services and the apprentices were never rich. She was also probably sleeping at present. Not that Elan knew where she even lived.

"It's... a woman." The words seemed to tumble out of Lews' mouth, and Elan sighed. Unoriginal. "She's fifteen, and she's a new apprentice at the Academy." A girl, more like. Lews' words hastened into a rush. "Apparently her potential is the strongest ever seen. They put her on the scale at seventy-eight. She has dark brown hair and green eyes. Her name is Latra. I... I dreamt about her. She grew into the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen."

Elan was unsurprised by all this. News had spread quickly of the new apprentice Latra Posae, a pretty little doll of fifteen and with a potential that set her as the most powerful female channeler. And here young Lews was, quite obviously lovesick with a girl – a _girl_!_ –_ more than half as young as him. But with time, a couple of decades here and there weren't to make much of a difference in the future with the long life of channelers.

"Are you asking me for advice on... courting her?" he said slowly, stifling an amused smile. Gossip often passed around the Aes Sedai of young Lews' continual chasing of skirts, all in good nature of course. Sometimes it had gotten to the point that he was distracted from his studies.

"I'm asking you if I should court her, Elan Morin Sedai," Lews said demurely. "She is very, very beautiful such that she haunts my dreams. Literally!" He chuckled. "I should tell her that."

Elan very nearly wanted to shake his head in disapproval. Lews was so childlike and naive that most of the time it really wasn't funny. He was in his late twenties and still behaving like twelve. Elan was not in charge of deciding when apprentices graduated from the Academy, but he would not have been surprised if they had not graduated their star student yet simply because of his immaturity.

"Child," Elan began quietly, "just because a woman is beautiful does not mean you must court her. I am not saying that you shouldn't court her, but that you should not base your decision to gain her interests solely on a studious examination on her physical appearance. You should know more on her personality, her strengths and her flaws, and by all laws of love, you must be able to love her for both. As I am not an expert on women but the mere subject of philosophy, that is all the advice I am able to give." He felt stupid for telling the boy this; clearly it was just another one of those relapses where he had his eye on another girl, but he could not just tell Lews to wait it out. He might be a philosopher with every reason to be cold-hearted and callous, but he had no reason not to attempt to be a bit more human by way of calculation so as to be a bit kinder to the boy with a mummer's farce.

Lews looked disappointed; it was likely that he had been given similar advice before, but insofar Elan had never heard of the boy kept awake because he discovered his lost love. But then again, Elan never cared.

The apprentice rose. "Thank you, Aes Sedai." His fiery passion was now subdued. Or perhaps he had expected a less ambiguous answer. "I will think on it."

"But don't let it distract your studies," Elan said rather lamely, getting up to show the boy out and not wasting a moment to acquire a fresh cigarette.

"Thank you," Lews said again at length as Elan opened the door to show him out. "I know the Aes Sedai often discuss my... tendencies, and perhaps have a good laugh over them." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "But thank you for not bringing it up."

"It was... out of context," Elan said with a frown, lighting the cigarette with a brief snatch at _saidin_. The dark corridor was illuminated briefly, and he took a long puff. "Given your motive, at least."

Lews nodded. "Good morning, Aes Sedai," he said, bowing.

"Good morning." Uncomfortable about referring to Lews as Lews, boy, young man or child, Elan left it there and closed the door. He really needed to get back to work and get everyone who wanted to communicate with him to leave a message with his service; there had been far too many distractions for the past day and night for him to actually get some real work done. Burn everyone and their tendencies! Burn his third name! Burn everything! None of them lasted anyway. He seated himself out in the balcony again and pulled out his notebook, lighting the cigarette with a thread of Fire.

* * *

Author's note again and please read: Mierin hasn't come into the story.

Yes, I know everyone especially Lews perhaps seems a bit out of character(is that OOC?) but please bear in mind that they are young and will eventually mature. It's just that Rand had 3 lovers and gets worked up over women so Lews would also have funny ideas about women. From what I know as well, he was... affectionate... about several women in the AOL. Potentially, so I hung onto that. Please comment, favourite or do what you do(I'm new here).


	2. Papers

AN: Do note that time passes between every chapter for this fic. It would be weeks, or decades. In this case it would be three years.

* * *

"Congratulations," Elan said half-heartedly. "So what do the both of you plan on doing?" It wasn't as if he cared. He was more acutely aware of the fact that Lews stood taller than him now, if it was just by a trifle. And the fact that the young man was already at ninety-two in terms of strength. Barid was the same height as Elan but standing at ninety, so that was marginally comforting. Eighteen and a half years at the Academy for both of them. There was much content to study as an apprentice, but this amount of time was certainly a record since the last generation of Aes Sedai hundreds of years ago, not to mention the strength at which they graduated at.

"Thank you." It just seemed that Lews drew himself up taller despite not moving, but it was apparent that he was trying not to grin widely like a five-year-old who had just received a ticket to watch the local sho-wing competition. It seemed that in his final years at the Academy, he had gained some measure of restraint and maturity. After all, he had gotten over young Latra quite quickly and now had his eye on a slightly older apprentice named Ilyena. Needless to say, he had signed up immediately to teach her, and Elan could do nothing about that. Lews would be left to Aes Sedai gossip like carrion to vultures. Not that Elan actually cared.

"Barid and I are planning on becoming authors," Lews went on, glancing down again at the sheaf of papers he clutched to his chest. "And since you're quite well-known, we thought we'd see if you thought we were author material. Otherwise we would find another area of pursuit. But we've already prepared some essays." He handed over – or proffered, more like – the sheaf of papers.

Interest aroused, Elan took the sheaf of papers and looked over the first line of Barid's essay, titled _The Colour of Autumn_.

_It began with the colour orange... While you believe that there is only one answer to understand the colour of autumn, it was also what I thought. Initially._

He leafed through to fish out Lews' paper next. _Opinions on the Structure of the Hall of Servants._

_As a new graduand, I believed that the Hall of Servants has ever been rather illogically structured..._

"Fair enough. I'll look it over and see." It was obvious that the Barid at least was inclined to be an exquisite taster in the industry of literature after several hundred years at the job with some significant amount of maturation, unless he had taken that line somewhere from a romance novel. But first the talent of composing literature remained to be seen, and that was the deciding factor. Lews, however, had absolutely no touch of subtlety, but might show some potential after some tutelage; his content was certainly right there, further down. It was hard to tell at such early stages.

Lews grinned. "Thank you, Elan Morin." He began to bow, but stopped himself when Barid elbowed him with a sharp look. The younger man inclined his head and beaming, left with his best friend.

Elan surveyed the courtyard of the Academy. While usually quiet with few people about, now it was teeming with Aes Sedai apprentices as well as other Aes Sedai, below the shade of the _chora _trees. There were gatherings of the younger ones around the newly-raised Aes Sedai who were coming out from the hall after their raising. The younglings congratulated their seniors heartily, and now adopting a more mature attitude, the new Aes Sedai smiled and gave their thanks quietly. Leaning casually against a pillar at the covered walkways that bordered the yard, Elan watched.

Now further away, Lews and Barid broke up after some eager chattering and Barid was soon surrounded by his juniors. The Therins had arrived on the scene to congratulate Lews, a kindly-looking couple whom Elan had never met as well as a brown-haired sister who could not channel. Among Barid's clamouring fans were Latra, whose heart he had won after Lews had set his sights on an older apprentice, Ilyena Moerelle. Barid, at least, had no interest in Latra. Lews had suggested they make a threesome with Ilyena.

"Do you remember the days?" a man's voice said softly from behind him.

Elan turned to find an old acquaintance who had graduated the same year as him. Naighel Coramelle, a handsome man of average height with sharp green eyes like emeralds and long auburn hair that fell to his shoulders. Naighel hadn't aged much, but he looked in the flush of his prime. Elan had not known Naighel well as apprentices, but they had been acquainted.

"I remember," Elan said quietly, returning the other man's smile with a faint one, just a mere twitch of his lips.

"The day I walked out after I swore my oaths to serve and saw you standing here," Naighel continued in his soft, mild voice. Elan had graduated the term before Naighel, but they were the same year. "You were smiling as you watched the scene before you. You don't smile any more."

"Oh, don't get nostalgic," Elan broke in, annoyed. "What are _you _doing here, Naighel?"

"My girl Areal." Naighel nodded in the direction of one of the clumps of apprentices, and he broke into a sudden smile. "She's Aes Sedai." The smile turned wistful. "Makes me remember how old I am." Naighel was a little older than Elan, having come past his ninetieth year recently.

Elan felt a smile twitch his lips. So Naighel was doing well. Not exceptionally, but well. "Your wife?" he asked. "And your strength."

Naighel nodded at one of the women, pretty with curly grey hair, who stood at the edge of the crowd where Areal was. "She can't channel. I've reached sixty-eight on the men's Scale, nothing since." Relatively weak. On the Universal he would have been soundly beaten by the most powerful women. "You?"

"I'm here every term," Elan replied, falsely interpreting the question. It would not be nice if the distance in strength in the One Power distanced their friendship. Naighel was one of the few whom Elan still liked, but they had not met in over thirty years since Naighel had found Teraille and moved off with her to M'Jinn. Aside from that, he was not entirely sure why he was present at the end of every term; whenever he received news, he just went. It was not expected of every Aes Sedai in Paaran Disen to come, but they usually did. Every year he'd see old acquaintances like Naighel and they would catch up on times and tease him with jokes like, "Finally coming out to see the sun?"

"Living in Paaran Disen then." Naighel snorted softly in amusement. "Of course, I would not have expected a man like you to get a wife and child. Your strength, and what have you been up to?"

Elan sighed. "Ninety-two, Universal."

Naighel's mouth dropped open. "That strong?" he whispered, all amusement gone from his voice.

Elan sighed yet again. "Well... yes." There was no escaping, except by a change of topic. "I've spent my time in the industry of philosophy and I've written some books. I give guest lectures all over the world as well."

"You tell me," Naighel murmured. "I feel like I've done nothing productive since my graduation in comparison to you, Elan Morin. How do you do it?"

"I'm probably less productive than everybody who feels the same as you, Naighel," Elan answered. He spread his hands. They were pale, almost white. Then of course, he rarely saw the sun. "And less healthy. Most philosophers vegetate at home to find their thoughts and pen them on paper if they're not doing it at an inspirational location. Night is preferable to me for work, so I keep odd hours and do my work at night and sleep in the day. My output is eight books at present. You, at least, _look_ healthy and more productive. What have you been doing?"

"History, at the Lyceum of M'Jinn," the other man replied. "Have you met Eval Ramman? He's one of my colleagues there, and Aes Sedai as well. Quite powerful. I believe he told me he was at eighty on the men's."

"I'm afraid I don't know the name," Elan said. "What has he to do with me?"

"He reads your books and was eager to meet you when I mentioned that I knew you. One of your rare... fans."

"Fans," Elan repeated, trying the word. What a word. He had never really believed he had readers who were loyal to him, not even at book signing sessions. At those times, he assumed that the author was present, had three names and had been labelled as 'one of the greatest minds of the Age'. He had done that several times to attempt to gain some new readers but it just eventually seemed to be a waste of time. Elan Morin Tedronai had better things to do.

A grin abruptly spread across Naighel's face as there was the sound of running footsteps. "Father!" a voice called. He caught his daughter, young Areal, in a tight embrace, almost stumbling back. "Areal Coramelle Aes Sedai," he laughed, ruffling her auburn curls. Her mother came up more sedately, beaming. "How does that sound to you?"

"I barely feel like Aes Sedai," the girl replied excitedly with a wide smile that... was just too wide and happy for Elan's liking. He could not comprehend such extreme emotions. "Oh, it's been so long since I saw you last, father. And you've barely changed! I must tell you about..."

Elan slipped off politely to let the young Aes Sedai be alone with her parents. After all, they had been separated for years though she must have gone back several times. He drew his cloak around him and left the Academy, eager to review the essays. He had made his annual pilgrimage back to the Academy, and he would retreat back into the privacy of his home like a tortoise into its shell.


	3. A Lesson

Author's note: Yes, I know this is very short, but the next chapter will come out _very _soon. I wrote this in a rush because there needed to be some Elan and Barid without Lews and his romance issues and to make up for this the next chapter is about 2500 words.

* * *

Elan opened the door to find not two, but only one man waiting, fidgeting rather nervously. "Hi," he said timidly with a small smile.

"Where's Lews?" Elan asked curiously, opening the door wider to let Barid in. "I'd think he'd be more than eager for his first lesson." Elan was more than happy to just let Lews go his own way; the boy had quite apparently blitzed through his trial essay without a care in the world, hence narrowly scraping through to qualify as one of Elan's students. Then again, Elan had accepted him as a student on the balance of probability; perhaps he was a late bloomer to gain the art of subtlety.

"He... has a date," Barid said hesitantly, coming in and casting a vague glance over the organised chaos of Elan's apartments. His expression was unreadable. "With Ilyena Moerelle."

"Not entirely unexpected," Elan said flatly, leading the younger man into his study. It was a small, cramped room with shelves of books on all four sides. The windows had been flung open to allow some ventilation; it smelt faintly of tobacco smoke, and dust motes swirled in the air.

"You have a lot of books," Barid commented, running a finger along the spines of the books closest to him as he entered. _The Dissolution of the Negative_,_ Effective Utilisation of the Subconscious Mind_,_ The Unexpected Response_, and so forth, all collected over the several decades Elan had been residing here.

"If you want to be a good writer, read up," Elan said, gesturing the other man to the seat at the desk which had just been cleared. "You don't know how to outstrip your competitors if you don't know how they write." He went to one shelf and fished out Barid's essay wedged between two books. "And whether you are a good writer or not depends on the difference between your skill and the average skill. You can't just write as you want if you want to be successful."

"Don't you need a seat?" Barid asked uncomfortably, producing an exercise book from his bag and some writing materials. "And now that you bring it up could you give me a reading list?"

"I prefer to pace when I'm talking," Elan answered, regarding Barid with a cold stare as he set _The Colour of Autumn _down on the desk. Few people understood the significance of repetitive action: it was therapeutic. "What reads that belong on your reading list depends on what you write. We'll go through this," he declared. "Read it out."

Barid looked at Elan with a little hesitation. Elan returned the gaze expectantly, and the younger man sighed and read out his essay.

* * *

It was hours later by the time they were done evaluating Barid's essay. Elan had begun to like the man; his constant presence in Lews' shadow in the past was the reason why Elan had not got to know him very well, but his demeanour was much more tolerable. Barid was someone who listened to reason, and listened well. If he worked hard he would be almost as great a philosopher as Elan himself.

"Perhaps you and Lews should come on separate occasions," Elan suggested, showing him out the door. "After this I'm not sure if I can teach the both of you at the same time; as we went along with it I realised that yours and his needs are different and should be taken care of without wasting the other's time." Lews was prone to drawing all attention in a room to himself anyway with his overly sociable personality that Elan was incapable of understanding; if the two did end up coming together then Barid would be neglected. And so far Elan believed Barid had a greater potential than Lews.

"Perhaps I will," Barid said, smiling slightly and almost in relief. "I suppose I'll have to discuss with Lews first, though. One of us will ring you up."

"Try not to set up a lesson for the next four days," Elan said. "Write something fresh for me and we'll look it over. But in the meantime I won't be around; I will be in V'saine the day after tomorrow to give a lecture and book signing." He shut the door without waiting for answer and pulled out a cigarette.

He was not looking forward to the book signing, but it seemed that there was no lecture that didn't end with book signing. It was an onerous task, with the long queues of people waiting impatiently to get his signature. Judging by the kind of people who typically read his books, he was willing to bet that a significant portion of them were graphologists anyway. It almost didn't seem worth the time.


	4. Offers

The vermillion-stained clouds were fringed in gold, hovering serenely above the city of V'saine as the sun, an ever-glaring source of garish daylight, retreated toward the horizon to bring its annoying light elsewhere. The stained glass domes of the Collam Daan sparkled in the sunset, and the Sharom itself, the Pearl of V'saine that hovered over the university, glowed golden with the sun's rays reflected off its surface such that it almost could have been a second sun. V'saine was always scenic at sunrise and sunset, as long as you found a good restaurant that offered a decent breakfast and dinner at those times and was situated at the top of a tower. Restaurants like those were often the expensive type.

Elan was not feeling hungry. He had ordered something out of good grace, but his attention was focused more on the wine. The wine was excellent, a thirty-year-old from the Shorelle vineyards that had aged very well. Before him on the glass table was a simple platter involving a sumptuous salad and a creamy dressing on a saucer. He had not really enjoyed the stuff; it had seemed that in the first mouthful flavours had all but _exploded _in his mouth. Connoisseurs might have described that with a positive connotation, but Elan preferred savouring the purer tastes. It was more than enough having to contemplate the complexity of life than the complexity of the food before him. Other people sat around. Romancing couples or university colleagues, apparently _they _enjoyed the food.

Whilst he swirled the wine in his glass and sipped thoughtfully, his client opposite him settled in hungrily with a feast of creamed fish, sliced and sweetened potato with a meagre selection of fresh vegetables on the side. She had brought a comb with her to hold back her long, curly silver hair whilst she ate, and her dark brown eyes were focused on her food. The expression on her slightly wrinkled face told that she certainly enjoyed it. That was why they had traveled all the way here from Paaran Disen just to eat. A representative of the Hall of Servants, Milena Leruse Theraan. She wore a streith gown, its mists bleeding yellow with enjoyment of the food.

"Why not Lews Therin Telamon, or Barid Bel Medar?" he asked finally. That young man Lews seemed to be at the center of attention these days, having just earned his third name with his twelfth book at the tender age of about eighty. All his twelve books were dealing with various subjects including philosophy; it had been difficult for Elan to critic that particular one without insulting his acquaintance. Lews certainly did need to settle down; his third name _and _the fact that he had attained the strength of ninety-two to equal Elan had certainly inflated his ego, but times were not the best for him after what happened with Ilyena. It was much too often that he sought refuge in the arms of his latest sweetheart Mierin Eronaile nowadays, too often to get any real work done. Becoming a member of the Hall of Servants would certainly put him back up on task.

Standing at a rather agitating ninety, Barid, or Barid Bel as was proper, had been far more sensible. He had elected to write a mere six books over the decades since he had become Aes Sedai, and with quality over quantity, earned his third name upon his most recent book. Life had been stable for him, and he was certainly a viable candidate for the Hall with decent intelligence.

"Lews Therin, we've considered," Milena Leruse said after taking a moment to swallow her food. "The newest generations are already proving themselves to be stronger than ever, and more skilled. Lews Therin is so, but he is too young and too naive; it will be some time yet before he will be mature enough to change his perspective of the world, let alone manage its affairs. But he has potential; I am glad that you see that." She was not smiling. She was not one for expressing emotions much. "Barid Bel is a better choice, but he has already expressed disinterest at Sitting on the Hall, from what I heard, so we did not approach him in any formal way. We want someone wise to replace someone wise, Elan Morin. You are young yet, but not too young; you can Sit for a long time on the Hall and not need any replacement. But you are very intelligent as well. Most of our members do not have much of that, though they have wisdom and experience to make up for that. Some say that you are one of the greatest minds of the Age. What say you?"

Elan frowned for a moment. Most of the Sitters on the Hall seemed to be of decent levels of intelligence to him. He supposed that he was viable candidate to be the youngest member yet, but just because he had been a whiz at mathematics as a boy of five didn't mean that he was one of the greatest minds of the Age. He had thought to settle the misconception, but he felt – rather pessimistically – that it was one of the stronger reasons why _anyone at all _even read his books.

For now, he preferred to resume his private life, occasionally showing up at the Academy with his hands in his pockets, holding infrequent lectures at the Collam Daan, teaching the art of writing to the few students he took in, and most of all, spending time on his books. A place on the Hall... it would certainly open his eyes a little more to the current affairs to the world than the gossip he overheard whenever he went out to eat or whenever a real world example seemed relevant to his students.

But he had to admit, he was lacking in inspiration lately, his daily inputs becoming shorter and even lacking real direction; his newest book, _The Analysis of Perceived Meaning_, had been a bestseller among the philosophy enthusiasts but he had seen nothing outstanding about the book apart from the fact that he was exploring a habit of the brain – something that is second nature to human behaviour – and somehow it had attracted a little more than his usual audience. Perhaps a change in lifestyle was suitable.

"When do I start?" he asked, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Next term," she replied, "in a month's time. Thank you, Elan Morin. The First has already authorised your acceptance, so you can wear this right away." She slipped a gleaming object across the table to him. It was a signet ring in the shape of a serpent devouring its own tail. Her own hand bore the ring on her right ring finger, fashioned for the slender fingers of a woman, but his was for a man's.

"Gold," he observed with curiosity, but did not touch the object.

"Of course it's gold," she said with a hint of incredulity in her tone. "A Peer of the Dominion would receive no less. Have you not seen gold before?"

"It's been a long time since I've touched gold," he said slowly, thoughts circulating in his head. He still did not touch it. "Gold does not decompose over time as the way most other materials do, such as organic fabric. It would look as good as new as in a hundred years' time, or five hundred. Strange, that." He smiled faintly. His thoughts were coming back to him. "Time wears everything except gold. Even the Portal Stones will be gone someday." Finally he took up the ring. It was chill in his fingers. "I wonder if in the next Age its people will find it and think of it as a symbol," he murmured, slipping it onto the ring finger of his right hand.

"Interesting point, unless the Aes Sedai live on. If then, the tradition would continue for sure, but it could change." She genuinely sounded interested as she studied her own ring with new interest. A hundred years she had been Sitting on the Hall, yet she had only thought of it as an ornament to display her own rank. Oh, how naive. "To the Hall, the ouroboros symbolises the eternal existence of Aes Sedai and how the tides of society come and go in the cycles resembling that of the tide currents at sea, yet we will continue to exist. I always thought these rings were always gold because they were expensive material, but now I can see that it has another allusion to the essence of the Aes Sedai."

"Everything is eventually forgotten by time," he said. This concept was nothing new to him. "It waits on no one. We will be forgotten again by the time the First Age comes around again." Time just kept on repeating itself, forgetting things and remembering things as the Wheel wove them into being again. "Doesn't it seem pointless?" Noticing her slightly baffled expression, he gave a cursory wave. "No, don't answer that."

He anticipated an awkward moment for a time, but it was short-lived as she pulled out her vibrating callbox with an apologetic smile. His skin prickled with goosebumps as she embraced _saidar_ and channeled into it. Hushed words were exchanged between her and her caller. A man, by the slight resonance of _saidin _that Elan felt. He bent over his unfinished salad, resolving to attempt to finish it without making a face at the kaleidoscope of flavour that danced across his tongue.

Milena Leruse rose after a time, resuming the apologetic smile on her face as she tucked her pager back into her handbag. "I must go," she said, adjusting her skirts. "Duty calls." She was a Restorer; it was not unlikely that she had a patient requiring urgent attention. "We will send another... younger... representative within a week to give you more information. Please allow me to settle the bill."

"I would appreciate it," he said. He wasn't sure he wanted to argue with her. "Philosophers aren't exactly rich, what with the stipends I get for my useless odd jobs at the Academy. Thank you, Sitter."

"Sitter," she returned with a slight incline of her head. Shouldering her bag, she left briskly. It felt strange to be called so.

No sooner than when she was out of the classy restaurant did an old friend seat herself opposite Elan, adjusting her plain skirts of sky blue silk. Her curly hair was the colour of the sunset outside the windows, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. It was a shame that Kamarile Maradim Nindar preferred an ascetic lifestyle over that of the common folk; should she adorn herself with some jewelry and more revealing garments, she would have been truly beautiful. Not that Elan had any interest, of course. She had graduated six years after him, and was still only a couple of decades into her hundredth year of age, but she was already a renowned psychologist.

"Nindar." He raised an eyebrow at her over the brim of his glass. "I did not expect to see you here."

"As well for me," she said, her voice like chimes as she smiled. "I thought you never left Paaran Disen, Elan. Not since the day you came to the Academy. Or are the _sha'rah _tournaments now held here in V'saine?"

"A client," he said simply, casually shoving his be-ringed hand into his pocket. He wanted no complications in this conversation. "And I do come to V'saine on occasions to give a guest lecture. As for the _sha'rah _tournaments, they are held in M'Jinn, and I go there every year." He had learned to play _sha'rah _in his spare time at the Academy, and had never failed to turn up for a _sha'rah _tournament if he could help it. That was one other thing he was just about famous for, but _sha'rah _was not something Kamarile Maradim Nindar would not be interested in, hence the error. "What about you?"

"Oh, I moved my office here four years ago," she said, maintaining the smile. "Splendid place, V'saine. I get interns from the Collam Daan most of the time as well. Bright little young things like the kids at the Academy, just a little older and because they're now Aes Sedai, a little pig-headed." She gave a tinkling chuckle.

"They do get pig-headed, a little," Elan agreed with a slight nod. Pig-headed didn't seem to be the right word. Egotistical? "It's only a matter of time before they realise that being Aes Sedai doesn't make them invincible or without problems. Everyone has their own problems. Still..." He allowed himself a slight smile of amusement. "...it is quite entertaining when they put up a stuffy attitude with the commoners."

Nindar snickered. "Oh, that happens all the time," she murmured. "Until they realise what being a Servant of All truly means," she added patriotically, almost self-righteously. It was something that Elan did not like about her, but as was known, the man of knowledge was able not only to love his enemies but hate his friends.

"As to your mention of such a thing happening all the time," he said, "neither of us bothered to do so, I recall."

She nodded. "And that was what made us acquaintances, I recall. We're both different from the masses, Elan, and in our own different ways. So far as I know, there's nothing wrong with me. As for you... the same can't be said. Shall I take you on as a client?"

"Is this your purpose for dropping by so casually?" he inquired. "To give me an offer I've rejected not for the first time?" She had known all that time that he suffered from a load of personality disorders and was frequently heavily dosed on nicotine and alcohol, but had never tried to intervene since it never bothered him.

"Partly," she said after a moment of thought. "People say that the line that separates genius and insanity is blurred, or just about non-existent, and you may need some help coping. After all, it's been years since we last met, and you seem to be hiding something from me, acting so uncharacteristically sociable."

"I'm no different," he replied smoothly. "I'm stable; that's all that matters." Sometimes Kamarile was just a bit fussy and even stubborn about certain things; that was another aspect he disliked. Most other times she made a pleasant acquaintance.

She got up anyway. "Very well. My other motive was to catch up on times with you." She smiled. "In other aspects, you certainly haven't changed, Elan Morin. But if you do think you're unable to manage the stress of your... philosophical... epiphanies... then I will be here in V'saine." Skirts swishing, she left.

Elan sighed after her. It was often difficult to keep up on 'catching up on times' conversations for him, and he saw many other tangents that would lead into a more intriguing chat for him and a boring one for his companion. He got up, draining his glass, and went as well, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. It would be a long ride on the sho-wing back to Paaran Disen, and he wanted to be back before dawn. He would have Traveled, but he did not know the place well.

* * *

Author's note: '...The man of knowledge was able not only to love his enemies but hate his friends.' I don't know if this needs citing, but this is a Nietzsche reference and it's not mine so bye.


	5. With the Hall

The wide corridors bustled with activity. Clerks rushed about at the last minute, clutching important documents for their superiors. Da'shain Aiel servants were not odd sights at all hours in the vast complex that was the Tower of Servants, whether they were cleaning or running errands. Aes Sedai were about as well; whether they were members of the Senate or just those who had come to spectate, they went to their posts with dignity. The senators who could also be non-channelers were easily defined by the tokens of office they displayed: wide stoles of golden silk over their everyday wear embroidered with eagle wings, the symbol of the Senate of Servants. The Senate was not required to be present today due to the fact that the convening was considered relatively uneventful in terms of the agenda, but quite a number of them preferred to keep up with the smaller matters on the Hall.

But whether they were servant or senator, they kept their eyes lowered and bowed deeply as they passed the two tall men who came down the corridor, dignity incarnate that made the Aes Sedai seem jumpy. They were clad in full ceremonial wear, long flowing robes of the finest velvets and brocaded silk with wide, flaring sleeves, split down the front at the lower half to allow ease of movement despite its bulk and worn over high-collared tunics. No two Sitters on the Hall of Servants wore the same colours; one wore dark, gleaming silver and the other pine sage, and none wore a stitch of another colour. Each wore, corresponding to his colour, a circlet of woven silver on his brow, the ring of the Great Serpent on his hand. One of them, however, wore a black cloak over his robe fastened at the shoulders with clasps fashioned in the symbol of the Aes Sedai.

"Sometimes there are peddlers at the entrance," Talland Merin Callemon continued as they walked. "There's always all sorts of people there, but most of them don't come to spectate." Talland stood just a trifle shorter than Elan, with emerald eyes as green as his robes and light streaks of grey in his long black hair. He was only at middling strength in the One Power, standing on the men's scale at seventy-two.

"Are we going to see them or something?" Elan asked, adjusting his cloak, feeling a little chill as a gust of cold air swirled down the corridor from the outside. He didn't exactly approve of peddlers selling their handicraft at the entrance to the most important building in the world, but there was no reason to shoo them off, but neither was there a reason to encourage them. It just didn't seem proper. Also improper to him was the Sitters' rule of referring to one another on first-name terms only when outside the Hall but it did help to loosen some of the initial tension between him and the others.

"Sometimes I like to buy something from them in an act of public-spiritedness," Talland said, a faint smile crossing his lips as he pushed back the wide sleeve of his robe to check his watch. He frowned slightly with a grunt of disapproval. "It's almost time, so we'll have to go now. I can show you around tomorrow if you wish."

"I would appreciate it," Elan agreed as they came into the great columned entrance hall. Spectators streamed up the double spiral staircases to the viewing galleries, the place abuzz with chatter. If today's convening were more eventful there would have been more people.

The two Sitters drew stares as they crossed the carpeted floor of the anteroom and moved on past the entrance hall. As they caught a glimpse beyond the colonnades of the city outside, Elan could see a man in a wide-brimmed hat approaching passers-by with a tray of steaming buns. At that moment, it looked delicious, more so knowing that any Sitting lasted at least three hours, but he could control himself well. The people who were entering the complex were beginning to walk a little faster now; the doors for the viewing galleries would be closed soon.

They turned down a lesser-used, narrower corridor, marble echoing beneath their feet just as another Sitter joined them. She was a tall woman with jet black hair that cascaded to her waist and cobalt eyes that held great memory, yet that gaze that impaled Elan was alert. She wore blue silk, in similar cut as them, so pale it nearly seemed white. Blue pearls were woven into her wavy hair.

It was with silence with which she greeted him, studying him unblinking. And then she spoke. "You will be the Hall's greatest success, and the greatest failure, Elan Morin Tedronai."

Taken aback, he stared at her.

"Oh, don't mind Anera," Talland said, his tone not trying to conceal his amusement. "She can see your future."

"Could you tell me more, then?" Elan asked, finding his tongue. Anera Dilin Meraellin. Her name was known amongst the Aes Sedai, and known well; she was extraordinarily powerful with the ability of Foretelling as well as Foresight. It had earned her a place on the Hall as the Augur, but with the apprentices her reputation was a different story. It was said that she had represented the Hall to watch a class once, as always; even the young Aes Sedai instructor had been unable to reach the Oneness under her gaze.

"Very hard to read," she said after a moment, seeming to stare right through him. "Your future is complicated, if that hasn't been made plain, or the most complicated I've seen in the younger Aes Sedai, very much more complicated." She shook her head. "Fire, blood, death, sorrow. Great sorrow I see in many, but not you. You have much more fire, blood, death to see than the others."

"Does the Hall know of this?" he asked, a little unsettled that she would welcome him this way by describing the foresight of an impending disaster that may well ruin the world.

"All of us know," she said quietly. "All we can do is bide our time and wait, but it is secret. You are not to tell anyone who is not a Sitter or the First Among Servants."

There was no more said until they reached the small antechamber whose doors were flanked by two burly men in the uniform of the Hall Guard; they were only there to ensure that none but the highest in the Hall passed through those doors. They saluted sharply as Talland channeled the doors open and they entered the cosy room.

Four of the other Sitters were already present, engaging in spare-time activities in the antechamber but remaining silent as was the rule before a convening. The room was sparsely but comfortably furnished, though it still maintained a certain standard of grandeur that was characteristic of every room in the vast complex that was the Hall of Servants. As the three of them entered, all of them looked away from whatever they were doing, whether it was some knitting or a book, eyes settling on Elan as they studied him. They directed questioning looks at Anera, who nodded slightly, and returned to their work.

Elan settled himself in a couch with a short essay by an older author on experimental philosophy; they would only be here for a short time. Anera went to the window, her eyes assuming a faraway expression as she closed them, peering into the future. Talland produced a sketchbook and pencil from within the folds of his robe, and after shooting Elan a quick grin, began to draw.

The last two Sitters came in after about six minutes, Milena and a man that Elan did not recognise instantly. Milena was garbed in ocean blue silk, her long greying hair falling about her shoulders loosely, and she wore pearls at her ears and throat. The short man turned out to be Nevan Niera Linesan by his deep turquoise robes. He had long snowy hair that flowed down his back like silk with hints of brown, black eyes and a well-built face. Yet his face bore few wrinkles; after some general inspection Elan noted that a lot of the older Sitters had facial treatment for their wrinkles and had their hair dyed. Gnarled old men and frail old women were never seen on the Hall.

Then Talland raised his sketchbook over his head, beckoning for everyone to see. On its surface were scrawled several words in capitals.

_DINNER WITH IANE LATER. ACKNOWLEDGE._

Everyone nodded expressionlessly, including Elan. Even the First Among Servants, Iane Janto Lanaedin, was not beyond the Hall rule of referring to one another on first name terms. Elan had not met the man yet, but it seemed that he would have something beyond boredom to look forward to after the convening.

Then a gong tolled far away, its low hum reverberating in the room. Everyone rose silently and went to the door on the other end of the room – it was not the one they had entered through. They lined up accordingly, Elan in front of Talland and behind Nevan.

Hallin Corbesan Meradil, arrayed in gold silk, stood at the front as Advisor of the Hall, right-hand man to the First Among Servants himself and one of the most powerful Aes Sedai alive. He had been Sitting on the Hall for nearly two hundred years as a renowned orator and diplomat. His ancestral line had bred many successes over the generations, and he already had numerous descendants who were working their way up into prestigious offices. He opened the door and strode out calmly, everyone trailing after him.

Upon entering the Hall of Servants itself, Elan nearly stopped in his tracks at its grandeur and beauty. A massive skylight above channeled sunlight into the Hall, circular in shape to illuminate the two long wooden tables that sat facing each other. Carved from Ogier-sung wood, they were well-used, well-polished and each had seats set for nine. The opposing table would not be in use today; the Nine Rods of Dominion were not in attendance. The walls were polished elstone that glittered silvery white like crystals in the sunlight. At one end was a dais, and the High Seat, a high-backed, comfortably-cushioned throne, stood behind a desk of sung wood and the same things laid out for the Sitters were on that desk as well. The flags of the Aes Sedai and Paaran Disen flanked the High Seat. The Senate sat on the other end facing the High Seat in rising levels of an amphitheater, and the viewing galleries above them had people filling the front rows.

The Sitters lined up and took their seats. Every Sitter had before them a lamp rarely used save at nighttime Sittings, a folder of documents they perceived that they would need for the convening, a teacup in a saucer, a pot of freshly steamed tea, milk saucer, sugar cubes and writing materials as well as an ashtray for the smokers. In front of each Sitter at the edge of the desk was a heartstone placard that stated his full name, strength and rank. It was tradition that a Sitter would bring nothing relevant to the Sitting, so they always set out the documents beforehand; the antechamber was meant for silence and contemplation. The documents he had were merely for reference; as the Informer of the Hall, he was expected to know just about everything there was to know. It was the reason why the Hall always seemed omniscient to the people; Informers knew just about everything there was to know. Elan had spent most of the past month with his nose in the books; others would have quailed at such at a task but he found it enjoyable learning political currents, business, economy, history and others. But he had to keep up on the news as well; he had been abroad several times to secure his predecessor's intelligence network, and should the Hall require it, he could provide the most detailed and unbiased information that was up to date.

But while every Sitter on the Hall had his or her own respective task in a convening, it was all just a loose structure to have some semblance of organisation. All Sitters participated in the decision-making.

The gong tolled a second time, rattling teacups in saucers, announcing the entry of another man from the other side of the Hall. He was a relatively short man but bore a commanding presence as he strode across, climbed the dais and settled down comfortably in the High Seat. He had ocean blue eyes that were full of age, full of memory yet sparkling with youth as well as long golden hair with broad streaks of silver cascading down his back. His face was not aged as it was supposed to be; it somehow conveyed his great age yet had few wrinkles. His ceremonial dress was in the same cut as that of the Sitters save that it used the colours of black and white in equal amounts and it was sewn such that there appeared to be no break in colour. His circlet was pure white.

"Today is the first day of the Summer, the one thousand five hundred and seventy-fourth year of Dominion, and the beginning of the new term," a woman's voice rang out in the Hall. Maralaine Narin Tessilin, the Speaker, in lavender silk. She was a woman of average height with auburn hair and emerald green eyes and seated next to Hallin. Next to Elan, Talland's pencil few across a blank sheet of paper, noting down every word that was said. "In attendance are the First Among Servants, the Senate of Dominion, and the Sitters on the Hall of the Servants. Today's session will continue with the normal agenda for the management of affairs of state..."

Elan felt the sharp, blue eyes of the First Among Servants on him as Maralaine went on with the intonations. He made himself relax, and lit up a cigarette to calm himself, but watched the Father warily from the corner of his eye. He slipped a hand into the folder before him just to make sure there was everything in there. His hand closed in around a small note, and he pulled it out.

_You will do well. From Iane_

Elan checked through the documents peremptorily before closing the folder; everything was there, of course. In the past month, he had begun to regret accepting the position as a Sitter, but it seemed that there was more to the job than whatever occurred on the Hall, and it was going to be interesting. So far, his day had already been filled with surprises. He returned Iane's gaze levelly and lit a cigarette.

* * *

Author's note: I'm probably not the kind of person that would reduce myself to begging, but please review and review constructively. As long as I continue to receive reassurances that my writing isn't ridiculous rubbish, I will continue to write. If I do not receive these reassurances, I become more apprehensive of publishing. I have about 25 000 more words' worth of content to publish at the moment, and if you think that this isn't rubbish and want to read more, please kindly review the work. Thank you for your time in advance.


	6. Socialising

Later that evening, the Sitters now clothed in everyday wear trickled into the dining hall of the Tower of Servants, a plushly furnished room with a long table in the middle with seats set for ten. Entering on his own, Elan noticed that his own garments were plain and drab compared to what the other Sitters wore. They kept to wearing the best fabrics and trendiest fashions with exquisite vanity, using plenty of silk, sequins, embroidery streith and fancloth. He had kept to his usual colours, or colour: black boots, black trousers, black velvet frock-coat, black shirt, black cravat, obsidian cufflinks, obsidian lapel pin and a black trench coat. It would have been slightly improper to wear a trench coat to such an occasion but larger-scale social situations made him feel cold and prickly. He felt snug and isolated from the grating voices and discomforting gazes.

He drew stares as he located his seat at the table as indicated by the small placard with his name on it in front of his plate. Uncertainly he acknowledged the other four Sitters present collectively with upturned lips and a nod and seated himself next to Darian Estoril Vanelon, the Secretary. Darian was a man of average height in his middle years with long dark hair and emerald green eyes, clad in fancloth and green silk, which suited his tanned skin well. "Good evening," Darian said politely.

"Good evening," Elan replied equally politely, eyeing the placard beside him at the head of the table dubiously – it was the First Among Servants. Even the antisocial were not even given comfort zones even here. The Hall had to be very cohesive in terms of staying organised and on the ball. It would have been impossible for that to happen the Senate as well despite the fact that social cohesion was also a good dose for the senators, or else the senators would begin to clique into their respective Dominions and throw politics off balance.

Before any kind of further conversation could be attempted, the other Sitters scraped back their chairs and rose. Elan did so as well, along with Darian, as Iane Janto Lanaedin entered. The First was dressed informally in a white buttoning shirt and a plain black coat. He grinned jovially as the Sitters rose, and the others grinned as well. They greeted with embraces, high-fives and friendly slaps on the back, and Iane came to Elan last.

"Welcome to the team," he said, slapping him on the back. "You do know my name, don't you?" He held out a hand. "And you know of the One Name Only Rule, right?"

"Indeed I do," Elan said curtly, disturbed at the sudden affection. They shook hands. Iane seemed so... blunt. "It's an honour to meet you."

"An honour no longer, Elan," Iane said, gesturing for everyone to sit as he did so, next to Elan. "You're the Hall's newspaper boy now; you'll be seeing me nearly every day." Everyone laughed. "And you'll be needing to keep up on appearances," he added with a shake of his head. "Can't stick with that, but just so you know."

"I'm sorry?" Elan asked, confused. Aiel servants entered the dining room and began to set out the appetisers.

"The point is that you're constantly going to be on television," Iane answered, leaning forward. "And you need to look _good_, Elan." He clapped him on the back again with a friendly smile to emphasise the adjective and removed the bell jar from his platter to reveal a fat, creamy pavlova stuffed with strawberries. "You look better than most, I'll guarantee that. But as you can see everyone here invests in good looks."

"I'll consider that," Elan said slowly, even more disturbed. He busied himself with removing his own bell jar to reveal an identical pavlova. He fumbled for his dessert fork and a spoon, a little nervous about dining next to the First Among Servants when he knew very little about formal dining.

He could see that the Hall wasn't exactly a fashion show, but Iane made sense. He needed to look good on and off television, not just adequate. As a writer considered too esoteric for popular appeal and someone who had grown up in a less-than-mediocre caste with few relations, he was not a rich man and couldn't really afford such luxuries but he supposed he could make a change or two once he had some money rolling in from his position as a Sitter.

As courses were served and devoured, there was much conversation at the dinner table. There had been a place set for an eleventh diner, one of the Holders of the Rods of Dominion visiting the capital who had pulled out at the last minute. The Hall discussed politics freely – the room was soundproof – and mostly had no conflicting views due to the social cohesion between its members who were each chosen based on psychological assessments and other necessary qualifications for their respective positions. Personalities blossomed beyond the serene, implacable faces frequently seen on television on live broadcasts, Iane being a blunter, more straightforward man than Elan had ever believed for all his subtle politicking, for instance, and Anera a relaxed woman completely in control of any situation behind her oracle-like qualities.

Upon further observation Elan diagnosed half a dozen high-functioning sociopaths in the Hall itself, all charming, entertaining personalities but with ruthless undertones. It was almost morbid – the highest echelon of the world population was mostly emotion-deficient. In any normal social situation Elan would have found trouble fitting in, but this was no normal social situation. Some points he raised would have had people staring, but the others agreed heartily. He recalled a word he had read once as a child in an antique book by an ancient philosopher of the previous Age; it could describe his concepts: it was called Machiavellian.

The discussions comprised not just politics; it was not the only thing that kept the world turning. Everyone present save Iane held a mandatory leadership position presiding over a usually Paaran Disen-based organisation that came with rising to their respective positions on the Hall. Elan was the Director of the Investigation and Intelligence Division which came with his own position; it was a vast international intelligence network that gave him the key to keeping up on current affairs faster than any newspaper company. Milena, apart from her job as a Restorer and Mentor of the Hall to keep the Sitters in line, was the Principal of the Academy in Paaran Disen as well as Ambassador for the Hall to the Tsomo Academy, across the World Sea. Talland, the fastest living notetaker and keeper of the Hall Chronicles as the Secretary, was Head Lecturer of the Collam Daan, his departments being linguistics, history, literature and philology. Each Sitter had something to share on current affairs in his or her institution, especially the educational ones like the Lyceum of M'Jinn, the Academy, the Collam Daan and others, or the ones dealing in commerce.

Elan was rather stuffed by the time they retired to their respective apartments in the Tower of Servants – he had never had a five-course meal in his life, let alone ten. He felt too bloated to sleep, and after taking a warm bath and dismissing his Aiel servants to their own beds he purged everything into the toilet bowl. That felt better anyway; he suspected that he had gone over his limit of wine intake. Then he had a sandwich and settled in his sunroom with a book and cigarette for company.

Before he could open the book however, his callbox was paged. "Elan?" It was his mother.

He stared at the callbox for a moment. He had not told Myella personally of his new job, she would no doubt be made aware by now, she would have to call, it would be his third name all over again, she would order him to go to bed... Perhaps it was best to just leave it be and pretend that he was asleep and couldn't answer. It seemed the logical solution, but why not?

He pulled the small _ter'angreal _from his pocket and activated it with threads of _saidin_. "Yes, mother?" he asked politely.

"Congratulations," she said. She didn't sound elated, but only somberly happy.

"Thank you," he replied, studying his Ring of the Great Serpent in the darkness. "I assume it's because I'm a Sitter now that you're not ordering me to go to bed. And I'm fairly sure it's generally known that Sitters are merely the First's high-ranking overqualified office staff." He snorted mirthlessly, puffing smoke from his nostrils. "I'm just the newspaper boy and the walking and talking encyclopedia, apparently."

"But you're the Director of the Investigation and Intelligence Division too," she said calmly. "You know few of those who come from poor families escalate to such high positions. It just doesn't really happen, since the wealthier happen to get more opportunities. And as for your bedtime, I've given up on that."

"What did you expect for me, when I was a child?" he demanded.

"I expected you to become Aes Sedai, nothing more. I couldn't really hope for much, Elan. They say that it's improper to raise a boy in a children's home when he still has at least one living parent. They say you would be different, you would not understand the love of both parents, the love shared between parents or two people who love each other. They were... concerned... about these issues, and I worried." She sighed. "Do you still remember your father?"

"No. Every day passes by and I remember my childhood less." He shifted in the armchair, uncomfortable at being shoved down memory lane again. There was almost nothing to remember, nothing of importance. But he remembered that one incident quite clearly, the one where he was just a small five-year-old boy, where his father died. Other people had happy memories of their childhood, but that was the earliest memory he had. He remembered it because his father's sudden death had turned his life upside down, his mother out all day working odd jobs at odd hours, both of them bathing alternate days to save on the water bill, and she finally resorting to bringing him to a children's home when she couldn't support them both financially despite all the welfare checks and hampers she received. That was what made up his earliest memories. He had thought the world cruel and unforgiving, but the Wheel wove as it willed.

"Do you want me to send you money?" he asked, changing the subject. "I received a deposit this morning, and there's enough to go around." Mathematicians certainly weren't rich, like philosophers and theologians, and for the same reason: their books weren't thriller novels full of suspense and flavour. That deposit was in fact more than enough for him to feed himself and pay rent back at the local Aes Sedai guild house in Paaran Disen for a year. He could get some surgery done, of course, but there would still be plenty left over.

"I think I'm fine," she answered. "I've lived out here in Tzora all these years and I still have my own house, my maths and my son. Everything is okay here, Elan, and getting better. Have you thought of visiting?"

"Yes, but no. I don't want to see that place again."

"All right." Her voice was tinged with melancholy. "Maybe I'll see you when I'm next on tour stopping by Paaran Disen. You're no longer living in the guild house there, right?"

"The Tower of Servants, seventh floor. I should be in, if I'm not on tour myself."

On the other end of the line there was a noticeable pause as he smoked. Then she spoke. "I'll visit when I can, Elan. You have my love." Without waiting for an answer, she hung up. He released _saidin, _and stared into the night thoughtfully, the book on his lap forgotten.

How long had it been since he had last seen her face-to-face? Since he had enrolled in the Academy, she had never tried a video call or a visit; she just called him up every now and then to inquire on how things were going. On most occasions she'd tried to act as mother-ish as possible, but he could see that she wasn't entirely suited for the position. Did she even understand the meaning of being a mother? She never seemed like what his schoolmates at the Academy had described their own parents; the parents they spoke of were kind, loving and on several occasions overbearing on their children, but for most of his life Myella had just let him go off on his own though sometimes she must have had some kind of shakedown to force herself to become a dutiful mother and tried to be overbearing for some time, and then she would forget again. The prospect of seeing her again was unlikely.

Suddenly tired, he decided against staying up the rest of the night and put away his book and snuffed out the cigarette. After shutting off the sunroom lights, he retired to his bedchamber for the night. He dreamt of his childhood.


End file.
